


There's a Second Time For Everything

by howelleheir



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Anal Fingering, Barry is not being healthy about this, Casual Sex, Come Eating, First Time, Frottage, Hair-pulling, M/M, No Refractory Period, Oral Sex, POV Harrison Wells, Pre-Episode: s02e05 The Darkness and the Light, Rough Kissing, Superpower Sex, Uncircumcised Penis, past Barry/Eobard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 12:23:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7268068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howelleheir/pseuds/howelleheir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Who the hell are you?!”</p><p>Wells stops in his tracks. In the short time he hid out beneath this Earth’s S.T.A.R. Labs, he heard his own name a few times, never fondly, and always in the past tense. Which means that this is going to be complicated, and also, possibly, that he's about to get hit. Very hard, by something moving very fast. Turning and pulling back his hood, he keeps the pulse rifle lowered but at the ready and a wary eye on Allen’s face.</p><p>(In which Barry has ill-advised sex with his dead, evil ex's doppelganger in an abandoned basement)</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's a Second Time For Everything

**Author's Note:**

> My very first Flash fic!

Allen struggles to his feet. He’s alive, and King Shark is dead, or at least down for the count. Well, that’s settled, then. The Flash can handle it from here. Wells heads back the way he came, but he doesn’t make it far before a burst of wind and charged air cracks behind him.

“Who the hell are you?!”

Wells stops in his tracks. In the short time he hid out beneath this Earth’s S.T.A.R. Labs, he heard his own name a few times, never fondly, and always in the past tense. Which means that this is going to be complicated, and also, possibly, that he’s is about to get hit. Very hard, by something moving very fast. Turning and pulling back his hood, he keeps the pulse rifle lowered but at the ready and a wary eye on Allen’s face. Shock, confusion. Not anger, and only a little fear. That’s good. Maybe Allen won’t hit him after all.

“Not who you think I am,” he replies.

Allen nods, his stance relaxing a little, averts his eyes and swallows. “You’re from...the other earth?” It’s not exactly a question. He gestures toward the pulse rifle. “What’s that for?”

“Keeping myself alive. And you, too, apparently,” Wells says. “Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to take this conversation somewhere a little less open. The place I’ve been staying is this way.”

He turns and heads through the pavilion, flipping his hood back up.

“Wait,” Allen calls, following closely behind. “How do I know you are who you say you are? Even if you _are,_ how do I know Zoom didn’t send you to kill me like the others?”

Wells allows himself an eyeroll. “Because I didn’t shoot you? I have proof, if you’re interested. Do you have some other clothes you could change into? The...” he waves a hand in Allen’s general direction, “ _gimpsuit_ is a little conspicuous.”

“And the giant gun isn’t?”

Shrugging, Wells tucks the rifle underneath his jacket. There’s another burst of energy, and Allen is in street clothes, his face blurring with a low hum.

“Still conspicuous,” Wells says. “And unnecessary. I already know who you are, Allen.”

“How?” he demands, dropping the illusion.

“I came through the breach in S.T.A.R. Labs. Turn here,” he says as they round a corner into a walkway between two buildings. “I stayed long enough to get my bearings. Your team is talkative.”

Allen seems to grudgingly accept that answer as Wells stops in front of a gated concrete staircase and hoists himself over the bars. At the bottom of the stairs is a metal door, propped slightly ajar. Wells opens it and leads Allen inside his makeshift safehouse - a single cavernous, cluttered room in the basement of an office building, seemingly out of use. At least, the dust was thick and undisturbed when Wells broke in, and no one has come down in the three days since.

“So,” he says, hanging his jacket on a metal shelf, and seats himself on the old sagging couch. “Dead or in prison?”

Allen squints and tilts his head. “What?”

“My doppelganger. Dead? Or in prison?”

“Oh,” Allen says. “That’s a long story. He- he wasn’t a good guy.”

“Hm,” says Wells. He never in a million years thought that _he’d_ be the good twin. “What’d he do to you?”

Allen shrugs. “A lot of stuff. He killed my mom. He’s the reason two of my friends are dead.”

“And yet,” Wells says curiously, aware that he’s probably pushing his luck. “You still operate out of S.T.A.R. Labs. Why’s that?”

“It makes a pretty good base of operations. He...left it to me.”

Wells nods. “So, dead, then.”

“Yeah.”

“You must’ve been close with him,” Wells ventures. Allen looks up sharply, eyes wide, mouth open. _Oh._ Closer than he’d thought, then. “I just meant,” he continues hurriedly, “that you seemed to accept that I wasn’t him pretty quickly. And he gave you S.T.A.R. Labs. If he was anything like me at all, he wouldn’t trust it to just anyone.”

That puts Allen a little more at ease. He rubs a nervous hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, he was a lot nicer than you,” he says, finally taking a seat next to Wells. “We _were_ close. I thought. Turns out, he was just doing what he had to do to get what he wanted. I figure, if you were the same, you would’ve put on the charm.”

Wells snorts. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Nah…” says Allen. “It’s good. It’s like- I don’t know...the more differences there are…”

“The less likely you’ll be to break my neck?”

Laughing, Allen says, “Yeah, something like that.”

His smile is wide and lopsided, showing his crooked teeth. There’s something endearingly genuine about it. Wells can see why his counterpart might have gotten involved with him; he’s exactly Wells’ type, or at least he would have been if they’d met under different circumstances, when he still had time for that sort of distraction - which he reminds himself firmly that he _doesn’t,_ and yet he still finds his hand moving to Allen’s knee. Old habits.

“Well, then, in the interest of self-preservation,” he says, “I hope you can find enough of those differences.”

Just when Wells has himself convinced that flirting with Allen is a bad idea, _especially_ considering that he was involved with the other Wells - a man who, from what little he knows, he wants to distance himself from as much as he can - and that he needs to take his damn hand off of the kid and stay focused on why he came here in the first place, Allen shifts his weight and just _looks_ at him, really studies his face, and then leans in kisses him. Slow and achingly sweet, and a little strange, because he tips his head to the right. The intimacy and familiarity of it makes it abundantly clear that he’s not thinking straight. Wells forces himself to pull back, a firm hand on each of Allen’s shoulders.

“Barry,” he says, trying not to sound too harsh. He fails, so he takes a breath and tries again. “I’m going to be honest with you - you’re a very attractive young man, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to see where this is headed...but whatever you think you’re going to get out of this? I don’t think I can give it to you.”

Ducking his head a little, Allen smiles and says, “See, that? You even saying that...makes me pretty sure you can.”

“I don’t have time for anything...committed. Even if I did, I won’t be here forever.”

Allen nods. “I figured,” he says. “No expectations. I just want to- I don’t know...like you said, see where it goes.”

Another kiss, and this time, Allen throws a long leg over Wells’ thighs and presses close, hands wandering over his shoulders and chest, open-mouthed. The feeling of him - climbing into his lap, clumsy and urgent, feverish even through his street-clothes - breaks what remains of Wells’ resolve. He returns the kiss full-force, biting at his bottom lip, his hands clasping the boy’s jaw and his tongue working into him. It earns him a muffled whimper and balled fists around his shirt. Hm. Looks like Allen doesn’t mind things a little rough.

Wells tests that theory by devouring his throat with a firm grip on the back of his neck, but jumps back at the result - Allen’s entire body vibrating and humming under his touch.

“Sorry!” he gasps. “That...happens. Sometimes. I know it’s weird. I’m-”

“Hey,” says Wells, taking Allen’s chin in hand. “Did I hurt you?”

“Definitely not.”

“Okay. Is it dangerous? You’re not going to... _phase_ through me and make us conjoined twins or anything?”

“Uh, no?” he says, seemingly horrified that he’s never thought of that as a risk. “No, I’d have to be going a lot faster.”

“Good. Then don’t worry about it. Come here.”

Wells shifts underneath him, falls back onto the couch, and guides him down to rest on top of him, weight in his forearms and their legs slotted together. He hooks his outside leg around Allen’s calf and raises the other knee between his thighs, just enough to give them both a little pressure and friction. Allen buries his face in his neck, kissing and sucking at the juncture of his shoulder. Wells sighs, lets his hands roam over the boy’s body - definitely a runner’s body - lean and tight, each muscle sleekly defined, coiling and uncoiling as Allen rocks his hips. The noises he’s making are intoxicating; low little moans against Wells’ ear, and between that and the now-subtler but nearly constant vibrations travelling from Allen’s body into his, this is getting frustrating.

“Up,” he says, pushing against Allen’s chest and pulling off his own shirt while Allen follows suit. He slides a hand between Allen’s legs, then gives him a firm squeeze before popping open the button of his jeans, lowering the fly, and jerking his briefs down over his erection. He hurriedly repeats the process on himself and pulls Allen back to him by the hip, centering him so their cocks rest side-by-side.

Finally having skin on skin feels electric. Wells grabs Allen’s waist and grinds up into him, adoring the way he grips at the upholstery and trembles and sends muffled cries into Wells’ shoulder.  

“Hey,” Allen gasps, pulling back. “Hang on, slow down, I’m gonna-”

“How’s your refractory period?”

“What? Uh. Nonexistant?”

Wells smirks. “Then what does it matter?”

“I...” Allen starts, “guess it doesn’t.”

He wraps an arm underneath Wells’ neck and kisses at his jaw as he rolls his hips against him. His breath builds to a fast, harsh pant, his thighs tense, and then his whole body seizes up, giving off a low hum that makes his long groan resonate, and he comes in thick bursts between them.

Wells runs a soothing hand up and down his back while he catches his breath, but it doesn’t take long - after a few quiet, still moments, Allen’s kissing his way down Wells’ neck and over his chest, folding his legs underneath him, licking up his own mess from Wells’ belly.

He slides down a little further, then pauses, blinking at Wells’ cock. “Okay, _there’s_ a difference,” he says.

“What?” says Wells, suddenly self-conscious. He makes an attempt to cover himself with a hand, which Barry swats out of the way, examining him with rapt interest.

“Your- You are... _very_ uncircumcised.”

“Pardon me?”

“You- The other you, the one from _this_ Earth was. Uh. He was circumcised.”

“What? _Why_?”

Allen squints. “What do you mean, ‘why’? I guess because his parents wanted him to be?”

“Wait,” Wells sighs, the pieces of the puzzle coming together a little. “You practice routine infant circumcision on this Earth?”

“Yeah. You don’t, on yours?”

“Nope. Not since the fifties. Dodged that bullet by four years.”

“I, uh...I don’t know if I know how to…”

Scoffing, Wells reaches down and wraps a hand around himself to retract his foreskin fully. “There,” he says. “Now you do.”

Allen sits up and moves Wells’ outside leg to give himself some room to lay down. Wells draws up his other knee to facilitate, and a strange look passes over Allen’s face, like he’s confused for a second, but he shakes it off and lays on his stomach with his knees bent.

What’s that about? Wells probably doesn’t want to know.

His head falls back onto the armrest when Allen sweeps his tongue over the head of his cock. After a few soft passes, Allen sucks him in all at once, and he has to bite down on a knuckle to keep his composure. It’s good - _incredible_ \- but he can think of something he might like better.

Before Allen can settle into a steady rhythm, Wells threads a hand into his hair and pulls him back sharply, smiling at the way it makes him yelp and screw up his face; eyes shut, mouth open, cheeks blooming pink - desire etched into every feature.

“Take off your pants, turn around, and come up here,” he says, watching as Allen obeys. It takes a little adjusting, but with Wells moving down to drape his calves over the arm of the couch and Allen on his hands and knees, they make it work.

Once Allen’s mouth is on him again, Wells sucks on two fingers to wet them and presses into him, kissing at his thigh and working in slowly to make up for the inadequate lubrication. If it stings, Allen doesn’t show it, just gives a muted cry that travels straight down Wells’ cock. That’s all the encouragement he needs to push a little deeper,  angle down, and sweep over Allen’s prostate.

Wells’ cock hits the back of Allen’s throat just as another full-body vibration buzzes through him - it’s like nothing he’s ever felt, heating his skin and lighting up all his nerves at once. With his free hand, Wells grabs Allen’s cock, gives it a few strokes, and pulls it to his mouth, shifting to get the right angle. He sucks at the head, swirls his tongue around it, flicks it over the underside, worries it against the slit.

The buzz is almost constant again, but nowhere near as subtle as before. It ramps up whenever he hits the boy’s prostate, and soon Allen’s gripping at his thigh, digging his nails in deep. His mouth is hot, sucking just this side of too-hard. His muscles clench and release, driving his cock into Wells’ throat, and Wells twists his fingers into him harder and faster to keep pace. The tight coiling building up in his belly forces the air out of his lungs through his nose in ragged exhales as Allen’s moans pitch up to a pleading keen. The boy’s taste filling his mouth is all it takes to tip him over the edge. His free hand finds the back of Allen’s neck, holding him down through each long pulse of his climax.

Unsteadily, Allen clambers up to collapse against Wells’ chest, trailing his fingers through the cooling sweat that had gathered between them. His breath is still shallow, and the faintest vibration still hums just beneath his skin.

“So,” says Wells, finally breaking the silence. “We were supposed to be having a conversation about why I came through the breach.”

Allen presses the ghost of a kiss to his collarbone. “It can wait,” he says. “Let’s talk about it with my team in the morning?”

“Mh.”

 

They sleep for few hours, until the first rays of daylight filter in through the frosted window on the door. Wells savors the calm and the feeling of another body against his own, until Allen murmurs something that sounds like, “I love you.”

_Oh, no._

This was a mistake.

He came here knowing he couldn’t afford to get preoccupied, let alone get attached to anything on this side of the breach. But Allen was already attached long before he arrived, to a man with his face and his name, and it doesn’t matter that it isn’t _him,_ because Allen is - how old? Twenty-four, twenty-five? - he’s young, and caught up in some complicated fantasy. Wells was an idiot to believe that the subtle differences would set him apart.

The least he can do is spare Allen some embarrassment, so he waits long enough for the admission to have potentially gone unheard before he stirs.

“Allen,” he says. “Are you awake?”

“Yeah,” says Allen, taking Wells’ hand and giving a tight squeeze. “We should probably go. I want to get to S.T.A.R. Labs before Caitlin and Cisco.”

They get dressed in silence, and Wells gathers up the few belongings he brought with him, feeling Allen’s eyes on him the whole time, and growing incrementally more agitated.

He can barely keep it out of his voice when he says, “Ready?” and doesn’t manage in the slightest after he hears a sudden _crack,_ feels a jolt, and, before he even has time to process what’s happening, finds himself inside S.T.A.R. Labs with the sensation of having left several organs behind.

“Was that necessary?” he snaps, still taking in his surroundings. The Cortex - architecturally, it’s indistinguishable from his own, but that’s where the similarities end.

A book, tucked under one of the workstations, sticks out to him immediately. Probably because it has his name and face on the cover, and he looks like a smarmy douche.

“Sorry,” Allen says, shifting his weight. Now that Wells sees him in daylight, standing up, he notices that he’s constantly in motion. “I just...uh, I thought it might be nice to- to get here a little early, so…”

Wells is only half listening as he skims the wordy, self-congratulatory introduction. “Warn me next time,” he says, glancing up briefly.

“Sure thing,” Allen replies, then, looking from Wells, to the book, and back, “Oh, yeah, you should probably read that. That’s a good idea. It’s, um. It’s my copy, so just when you’re done with it…”

“I’ll return it just like I found it.”

Wells’ eyes flick back to the page, still incredulous that _this_ is the man Allen’s pining after. Badly, it seems, and for a _long_ time, because though the dust-jacket is immaculate, the pages and spine are worn and creased from multiple readings. What the hell has he gotten himself into?

After a minute or so of silence, Allen speaks up again. “You could probably read that later if you wanted. Uh...Caitlin is probably going to want to run some tests, so you’ll have a lot of time to kill.”

“Is there something you want, Mr. Allen?” Wells asks, banking on formality to make his point.

“I just thought, maybe - before Caitlin and Cisco get here - we could…”

Wells sighs, snapping the book shut. “Alright, subtlety is apparently not my forte, so let me make this clear. Last night? Serious lapse in judgement on my part. It won’t happen again. Understood?”

“Oh,” Allen says. He looks crestfallen, and Wells has the uncomfortable feeling that if he looks at him for too long, he’ll do something stupid. “Yeah, yeah. Sure thing.”

“Great,” says Wells, swallowing. “Now, I’m going to read this book to fill the awkward silence until your friends get here.”

 

The next few minutes drag on longer than he would like, with Allen pacing the room and checking his phone constantly, but finally, there are footsteps and voices in the hall.

The young man, Cisco, addresses Barry as he walks into the Cortex. “Hey, why’d you send me a text that says, _don’t freak_ \--”

The girl screams, then stifles it, and the two of them freeze, staring at Wells. He feels like he should say something. Differentiate himself from his doppelganger without protesting too much.

“Very strange to be holding your autobiography...Especially when you didn’t write it,” is what he settles on as he tosses the book back onto the workstation. “And it’s not about you.”

Silence, which isn’t good, but it’s better than one of them clocking him, which is what Cisco looks like he’d like to do.

Allen speaks up. “Dr. Caitlin Snow, Cisco Ramon,” he says. “Meet Dr. Harrison Wells...from Earth-2.”

**Author's Note:**

> So that title is, like, three plays on words and a tangential Fringe reference. Someone stop me.


End file.
